


Why Did Love Put a Gun In My Hand

by TentacleVamp



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Redemption, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14585442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TentacleVamp/pseuds/TentacleVamp
Summary: God has a very sadistic sense of humor.Mary is reminded of that fact every so often. The horrors she’s seen attest to that. Yet, she forgot how meticulous devious his jokes could be. Because this is what it was – a joke.From day one, the mark on her chest had been just one big, fat joke.--Soulmate AU - Deputy/John Seed (or, having a soulmate doesn't always mean it's sunshine & rainbows for the parties involved)





	1. (This night ain't) for the holy man with the holy plan

**Author's Note:**

> I may have a thing for angst filled couples... SUE ME. 
> 
> Also, John here is still a tiny crazy sadist. Will these crazy events change him to the good caring man he was before?? Or it won't even matter and this will all go down in a blazing fury???? Who knows! Keep reading to find out ;)
> 
> And my Deputy (Mary Keen) facecanon is Tessa Thompson. (She & John would make beautiful babies and that's a fact)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to re-write this chapter with more of my Deputy's inner thoughts. I wanted to show off a bit more of Mary's backstory, basically. (She has a lot of opinions, this one.) 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it!

God has a very sadistic sense of humor.

Mary is reminded of that fact every so often. The horrors she’s seen attest to that. Yet, she forgot how meticulous devious his jokes could be. Because this is what it was – a joke.

From day one, the mark on her chest had been just one big, fat joke.

 

* * *

 

It’s like she’s inside a horror movie. Night time? Check. Intimidating tall statue of a cult leader? Check. Creepy blind followers ready to rip your skin off? Check, check.

It’s not like Mary hasn’t been in dangerous situations before. She’s had drugged up men point a gun at her face and cocky assholes with a knife at their side.

But this is a whole another level of dangerous. Like they’re lambs, walking inside the wolf’s den. She shivers as they land.

Deputy Keen walks behind Hudson, vigilante of every armed up Peggie who glares at them. The Marshall is getting on her nerves. Earl is right, Joseph Seed is not a man to be fucked with. Federal agents tend to do that, don’t they? Act like they know better than the people who’ve been around this shit the longest. But maybe Mary is just being judgmental. Maybe it's got nothing to do with federal agents.

Maybe Marshall Burke is just an egocentric prick.

“Relax, sheriff. You're about to get your name in the paper.”

The condescending tone is not lost on the Deputy. Nor the sheriff. But, they have a job to do. Even with assholes in tow.

“You’ll be fine,” Hudson tells her.

Mary nods, and enters that eerie cold church; goosebumps grow on her arms and up her neck. She wonders if it's because of the mad man in control, or the memories of sore bend knees, hours of praying with fresh scars on her palms.

The Father continues speaking as if they don’t exist. He thinks himself untouchable, she realizes. The Deputy hopes this night proves him wrong.

Yet, a voice crawls up Mary's subconscious and it whispers: _“Sometimes, things are better left alone.”_

The Deputy fights against that voice, disturbed. It’s been years, but Nun Christine’s teachings still have a strong hold on her.

_“Quiet, child. Don’t speak up. Don’t talk back. Be a good girl and do as you’re told. Lest your curiosity lead you on an unholy path scorched in sin. Your parents didn’t listen. And look what’s been done to them. Do you wish to join them?”_

When Mary first heard such teaching, she had screamed and trashed and gone after Nun Christine's eyes.

She is thankful for her persistent anger. Without it, she would’ve turned out just like one of the many quiet mice at Lady Mercy Academy. The hatred for herself would’ve grown tenfold.

The Deputy stays silent as Joseph continues his speech, when Marshall Burke doesn’t listen and steps forward, The Father looking down at the trespassers with a cold stare which almost makes Mary take a step back.

“Here they are, the Locusts in our garden,” he says, calm yet so righteous. “You see they’ve come for me. They’ve come to take me away from you. They’ve come to destroy _all that we built_.”

The Deputy’s hand reaches for her holster. The Sheriff shouts to _put your guns down_ , but Mary is vigilante. This man who stands before her. This insane, arrogant motherfucker… He _is_ dangerous. One false move and they all go down on the floor with bullets covering their chest.

But oh, no. He’s not done yet. The Father is one of those types who likes to hear himself talk. Just like Nun Christine. Talk and talk and talk. But unlike that bitch sent from Hell, Joseph actually has the power to back it up. Mary would lie if she said he didn’t frighten her.

“God will not let them take me.”

And like that, his followers go. Like little sheep they follow the commands of their pastor. The Deputy knows part of it is not their fault. Brainwashing does messed up things to the brain. But another part of her… She’s so angry they’d let a man like Joseph Seed take control of their town. Of their lives.  

_Fight, goddamn you_ , she thinks, _At least you’d die with your dignity intact._

“I saw when The Lamb opened The First Seal, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say, come and see—“

“Step. Forward,” Marshall says, and for once Mary agrees. She just wants him to shut up.

“—and I saw,” Joseph continues, pointing at him in composed frustration. “And behold it was a white horse.”

The Father looks straight at the Sheriff. The Deputy can see his body wince at his words. Mary wants to lay a hand on his shoulder, tell him he’s playing him. It’s what he does. It’s how he got here—

“And _Hell_ followed with him.”

Mary freezes. It’s her turn to be on the receiving end of The Father’s stare. His meaning is not lost on her. His eyes tell it all.

She wishes she could run. It’s like his fingers are right under her skin and he can see the filth which haunts her. He’s having a revelation. The Father stretches out his arms towards her, unblinking and severing, and waits for her decision.

“God will not let you take me.”

Her hands sweat as she cuffs him, like she’s supposed to.

But then. Oh, then… Mary glances at his side, and there it _is_.

So much different than The Father. His eyes are not haunting or cruel. They’re beautiful. Blue and green and shinning, like she’s another revelation to this man. But one of fortune, and not desolation.

It’s unmistakable what it is.

The tingling sensation. Tiny little shudders running down her legs and making all her hairs stand up. Pupils turning wide and mouth going a little dry.

The hard pull on her chest; right over the name imprinted on her skin.

_It’s him_ , the little voice says, _It’s your John._

My God. It’s not just a stupid fairy tale told by adults to keep children hopeful. It’s real. _All_ of it. It’s so real she can taste the want on her tongue.

The dark-haired man’s eyes catch hers in an instant. He stares at her softly, small little wrinkles forming under his eyes. Loose and relax. She’s caught him off guard, she realizes. For a moment, he looks like he might just walk down those steps and kiss her. For a moment, she thinks she might let him.

How quaint. They’re both touch starved for each other’s skin. Mary would weep if she were allowed.

_He’s so beautiful_ , she lets her brain think, for a minute or two, _like one of those angels painted in the cathedral._ The only gorgeous thing she remembers of those wretched times.

It takes her a second, but Mary composes herself. The Deputy escorts The Father out, all the while feeling John’s eyes on her back. As if he’s right next to her; mouth grazing skin.

But that sweet bliss doesn’t last long.

Unsurprisingly, everything goes to shit real quick.

 

* * *

 

They crash. The Peggies hold on unto the helicopter as the engine makes a horrible sound, the winds rock against Mary, everyone screams and darkness takes hold of her; Joseph’s soft humming being the last thing she hears.

Mary is reminded of a night like this one. Where it all went down in flames.

It was so fucking fast. One minute, they were laughing at the movie they just saw. The other, a tire went over something sharp and the car skewed off the road.

How quick Death decides on whom to take.

The smell of smoke and burnt metal wakes her. Her hands immediately go to her seatbelt, eyes frantically searching the crashed plane. The Deputy sees the Marshall and Hudson, both unconscious.

It is then Mary feels a heavy pull to the ceiling – except, that’s not the ceiling. No. They’re upside down.

Her breathing turns rapid.  Mary’s mind strays from her.

_Windows broken, scent of burnt flesh, it was so hot inside… She cried for help. They didn’t hear her. They weren’t talking. Her hands grabbed her seatbelt and—_

Nancy’s voice snaps her out of it.

Mary takes a deep breath. She can’t freak out. Not now.

The Deputy tries to reach for the headset. Swings her weight into it. Once, twice. One more time. _Grabs_ it. Mary sighs in relief—

A second hand grips her wrist.

It’s Joseph.

“That saved,” he sings, light and raspy, “a wretch, like… me.”

The Deputy’s weak. With just a light shove her hand drops the headset. He lets her go, only to wrap his cold fingers around her collar. His eyes look empty. Detached.

(So unlike the man who was beside him.)

“I told you that God wouldn’t let you take me.”

She shivers.

_“Please,”_ Nancy’s voice comes in. _“I need to know what’s going on!”_

She sounds distressed. Mary breathes a little easier. She’ll call for help. They’ll have to send a rescue team if a federal agent and several deputies go missing! Especially if it involves bringing in a cult leader. Right? _Yes._ They’ll have to. They’ll come for them. They’ll _have_ to.

The Father grabs the transmitter. He does not blink as he watches her.

“Dispatch.”

_“Oh my God…”_

For a second, the corners of his lips go up. Mary stops breathing.

“Everything is just fine here. No need to call anyone.”

_“Yes, Father,”_ Nancy says, _“Praise be to you.”_

Mary closes her eyes. Bile rises up her throat, a little bit almost coming out of her mouth. It’s difficult to swallow it down; being upside-down and all.

She feels like strangling Nancy’s frail little neck.

The Father comes closer. The Deputy can smell his breath and wishes she had the strength to spit on him.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Mary hand goes for his neck. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Ah, _that rage_. She almost missed it.

Joseph tilts his head, as if surprised. He smiles again.

“Oh, child,” he says, almost fondly. “He has sent you here for a purpose. And you remain as clueless as the rest. But do not worry. I won’t let you live in ignorance for long.”

The Father shrugs off her hand like it’s nothing. He keeps smiling, cold eyes looking down on her.

The Deputy sees red. She wants to scream.

“You can take your God and shove it up your ass,” she snarls.

Mary has heard enough of Him for a lifetime. She’s tired of bullshit, no matter what deranged mouth it comes from.

The Father’s smile falls and his eyes grow colder. Her heart begins to beat a little too fast. Mary tries to quail back, but the seat stops her. She’s scared.

"I will show you the way back to Him," he promises, "Even if you fight me, even if you tear down my flock - I will show you the light of God."

"Fuck off.”

He pays her no mind. The Father walks pass her, movements light and smooth, as if he wasn't just in a helicopter crash.

His followers surround him in desperation. Ready to kiss their mad messiah's feet. The bile in her throat rises again.

Hudson fidgets. "Jesus Christ," she gasps. "What the fuck happened?"

"We crashed," Mary responds. "We need to get out of here."

Marshall is already fidgeting with his belt.

Her ears catch ecstatic voices. Mary looks to her right; the crazy fuck is starting a riot.

“We need to get out of here,” Mary says again, almost out of breath.

Hudson tries. She tries. But they get to her first. She screams as they drag her out. Mary reaches for her hand but it merely grazes her foot.

Flames go higher, higher and _higher_. The heat starts to become unbearable. The little sheep get scared.

“Let them burn,” one shouts, “It is God’s will!”

Mary starts trembling again. _No, no, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening. Not_ now _. No, no._

Marshall gets out first. Doesn’t even look back.

Her mind conjures up the image of her mother’s blue dress being engulfed in flames, her father’s glasses, broken, stained a little red, dropped by the rearview mirror.

Mary breathes. In and out. In and out. Just like she learned. Just like she has done so many times before. But it’s not working.

It’s getting worse. She keeps breathing too quick, too fast. Things start to get hazy around the edges. Mary freaks out.

_It’s over_ , she thinks. She’s going to pass out and her body is going to burn, and all she can see are her parents’ corpses—

_It’s going to be okay_ , a strange voice whispers. And like that, Mary’s breathing eases. _Please_ , the voice continues, _move your hands_. It travels from her chest and up her arms. Click. She falls to the ground.

She doesn’t have time to think. Mary runs.

The Deputy doesn’t stop running till she and Marshall both hit the water.

And a stranger drags her unconscious body to an underground bunker, cuffs her to a bed.

“The goddamn Collapse,” her bald savior says, cross. “They all think the world's coming to an end now. They've been waiting for it, for years. Waiting for somebody to come along and fulfill their prophecy. Kick off their goddamn Holy War. Well, you sure as shit kicked…”

Mary Keen hangs her head. The shit she's in is so deep, she knows a few missteps will only drag her further down.

And the John across her chest only makes the tripping easier.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be in John's POV. Stay tuned! :)


	2. (This night ain't) for the faint of heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knew anyone can reach atonement. But not everyone is strong enough to last through it. The Baptist vowed to stay on the holy path. Faithful. Resilient.
> 
> Besides, there wasn’t anything left to tempt him.
> 
> That is, until he saw his Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helooo there!!  
> It's been a while and I'm really sorry it took me this long to upload a new chapter. Shitty irl stuff. But I'm better now. Got a part-time job even! And after being dissapointed with AHS: Apocalypse finale I got the inspiration not to only write a new fanfic, but KEEP WRITING ALL MY OTHER ONES AAAHHH WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY  
> Anyways, enjoy some good old angsty!John !!!
> 
>  ~~(also i went back to the first chapter and kind of flinched at my old writing. probs gonna re-write it in the future. stay tuned.)~~ did the re-write!!

_“You have to love them, John.”_

His brother had whispered, once.

When John had let his anger take over and almost drowned a sinner in the Cleansing. In that very short moment, all he could think was of their disobedience, their arrogance, their selfishness. How dare they throw Father’s love back at him with spit!

Joseph had stopped John. And The Baptist had had to admit to his remaining faults.

“I promise, Joseph. I’ll do better. I will,” he had sworn.

“I know, brother. I know,” The Father had said, softly, with a firm grip on his neck. “You have to.”

John knew _anyone_ can reach atonement. But not everyone is strong enough to last through it. The Baptist vowed to stay on the holy path. Faithful. Resilient.

Besides, there wasn’t anything left to tempt him.

That is, until he saw his Mary.

 

* * *

 

 _This must be it_ , John thinks. _Love must be this way._

It eats you from inside, robs you of your inhibitions, infests your thoughts and dreams -- and yet, there’s an ache which can never be filled. Nothing is _enough_.

John is never tired of her. Of her brown curly hair, jet-black eyes, bronze soft skin. Her _sin_ , which she wears so gracefully.

If he closes his eyes, he can feel it again. As if they were one in the same. Her anxious thoughts, her tired body. Her _rage_. Paralyzed by the engulfing flames of the crash.

As John was. When he first laid eyes on her.

 

* * *

 

When he spotted her, John naively thought his lust was running rampant again.

The sinners sent to arrest his brother had prowled their arrogance on the church grounds, like he assumed they would. _None of you know_ , he had thought, _none of you know the messiah who stands before you._

Ignorance was bliss, till it wasn’t.

But one in their little group had caught John’s eye. And then, it’s like his breath had been robbed from him.

( _Sucker punched_ , may be a more fitted word.)

The Deputy was beautiful. John had always said _yes_ to beautiful things; and wretched things.

 _The lust is winning_ , he had thought. Before the unmistaken pull on his wrist told otherwise. A bucket of cold water had been splashed on his soul. The hands behind his back had twitched, too, fighting control with his head, trying to reach the one thing they craved in that whole goddamn room.

He had played the fool, of course. Kept himself by Jacob and Faith’s side, as their Father was dragged in chains.

His eyes, however, were always kept on her back. Stomach turning as fear grew for her. John knew what would come next.

When Joseph says something will happen, it _does_. And in a spectacular fashion.

 

* * *

 

The Baptist had almost fainted when he felt a sudden emptiness. Like a ringing had always been in his ears – unnoticed and untouched – and now the world had decided to be quiet.

John had quickly excused himself, went outside through the back. He saw the clouds of smoke not too far away. They had crashed.

His legs went weak, and he had almost fallen into the dirty grass then and there. Vision became foggy.

His breathing had become too rash, he realized.

The Baptist had looked at his right wrist. He had felt the faded burned scar pulsing; like the first time his mother had driven a cigarette over it.

Something had happened to his Mary.

This time, he did fall to the ground.

A scream wished to crawl out from his throat.

Was did how God choose to punish him? Dangle his soulmate in front of John, and then take it in the next breath?

_Is it any different than what He did to Joseph?_

His body shook. He had closed his eyes. The Baptist may even shed a few tears.

John had never felt as hopeless as he did then.

It’s worse than the day Joseph found him.

Too much shit in his system to recognize his long lost brother stood before him. And then, laughing with dread in his throat. Of course, his brother would turn out to be the messiah. Of course, he’d find him like this, tainted and a mess. Of course, of course. Yes, _yes_.

John needed to have his worthlessness rubbed on his face. Otherwise, what was the point?

Just then, he had gasped. The ringing was back.

He could _feel_ her. Could feel her trapped, mind warped into deep unease. Pictures of two people dangling from the roof of a car struck The Baptist.

 _Oh, Mary._ He had thought. _What has this world done to you?_

She needed a hand to lean on. She needed reassurance. She needed _him._

John had exhaled. In and out. In and out.

His grip on his wrist softened.

He could feel her relaxing.

But it’s a short calm.

John had dug his boots into the dirt, strange discomfort settling in his chest. There had been anger there. Anger he hadn’t thought could ever match his own. In fact, it surpassed it. This one burned brighter.

John had exhaled. In and out. In and out.

But the unease grew. So much so it left her dizzy. It had threatened to leave his Mary burning in the crash.

He couldn’t allow that.

 _It’s going to be okay_ , he soothed, in his mind, through the wind, unto his wrist. _Please_ , _move. Move your hands._

His Mary scorched as he felt her do as he asked.

John had exhaled. In and out. In and out.

He could breathe easy again.

Yet.

His Mary kept running. Running, running, running.

 _Why for_ , he had thought, _all of this is Father’s domain. What’s the point if you’re going to end up exactly where you were?_

But his Mary had not answered him. Maybe he had angered her. Maybe she had not heard him. Either way, he could rest easier.

And he could wait. John knows how to wait. It’s all he’s done his whole life.

 

* * *

 

Joseph now looks at him with distrust. He knows this because it’s the same look he wore when they were reunited.

When The Baptist was not The Baptist, but a broken lost man, with too many sins on his back.

The only reason, John is sure, the sinner didn’t turn away from his brother, was because Joseph’s eyes were also filled with compassion. When he hugged him, John _felt_ it. When he spoke, he _tasted_ it.

The Father is the only reason he’s here, alive, and blessed with doing God’s work. And not cooked out in a big empty apartment, money spent on the latest escort named Mary, trying to bury his fears with more whiskey and cocaine.

And he knows why Joseph looks at him that way. He knows of Mary. His brother knows everything.

“This is a test, John,” The Father said, once things settled and the fire had stopped burning so bright. “He’s brought her here for you.”

Those eyes who were once filled with love glared at John. He almost flinched, at the total absence it.

“Do not fail Him.”

“I won’t,” John answered, voice tight.

 _Maybe it’s this way we are similar_ , he thought, _our blood runs cold when we are presented with two impossible choices. And we are forced to pick the right one._

He can’t help it. John glances at the burned flesh inside his wrist. Thinks of the confusion and shock and anger his other half had felt. It’s sickening. John thinks this is the first time he’s ever felt at peace. Not even Joseph, in all his glory, could accomplish such a feat. But his Mary could; she did.

He doesn’t want to let her go. The right choice doesn’t seem as clear.

 _Is this how you felt when you were forced to kill your child?_ John thinks, but does not ask. Knowing too well the answer already.

 

* * *

 

When John speaks of redemption, he means it. All of it. Just like everyone can be a sinner, a sinner, too, can reach atonement.

“You have to unburned yourself, John,” his brother told him. “Think of your brothers and sisters. Think of your family. Think of others, John. No more of yourself. You’ve done enough of that, haven’t you? And look where it brought you. All the decadence and lust and avarice – and you still struggled to find contentment. Isn’t that proof enough?”

And John had made the mistake of looking down on his wrist then. Joseph caught it. The Father held his hand, and with a gentle voice he spoke: “Give me her name, John.”

Jacob had a heated iron by his side. The Soldier looked at John with rare compassion, but like John, knew it had to be done. It was the way to salvation. The survival of the fittest. God’s path, John says and Jacob disagrees, laid out for them by Joseph’s wisdom.

So, The Baptist said yes to The Father. And he unburned himself with a scream.

 

* * *

 

“Sin is pervasive,” he tells her, over the radio. “It drives us to do unspeakable acts. I know the feelings that drives you. I know them, _intimately_. You know I do. But I can help you, Deputy. I can wash away these sins. I can _cleanse_ your soul. It will be difficult and it will be painful, but… it _will_ be worth it. I won’t hurt you beyond what you can endure. I promise you.”

John is not a kind man. But for her, he can be. Just enough to save her. It’s the least he can do, for being damned to having a soulmate like him.

“My people will come for you. They will bring you to me. _Please._ Don’t fight it. Because the harder you resist… I don’t want to hurt you, Deputy. I want to save you. _Let_ me save you.”

The Baptist will give her absolution. He has to. He won’t be able to stand living otherwise.

 

* * *

 

His Mary is unconscious as they lower her into the water.

When they brought her to him, his eyes had caught the extent of her wounds. Bruises too deep and too near her neck. The Baptist had taken one of them by the collar and pushed him into the filthy ground.

“You weren’t supposed to hurt her,” he had snarled, boot catching one of their knees.

“She fought, Baptist,” the other had said, in pain. “She took down half our men. We needed to bring in the big guns. Please. We tried to do as you asked! We did.”

John had stared down at him, ready to put his hands around his neck and _squeeze_ till there was nothing left.

But his people were watching. God was watching.

John had exhaled instead, walking away. He needed to keep his anger in check. What kind of Baptist was he, if he hurt people out of sin, and not out of duty?

“A sinful, horrible man,” Joseph would whisper in his ear. “Like our parents. And the heretics who took you in. You’re better than that, John. You’re my brother. You’re better than the sin you were soaked in. _You have to.”_

John had walked into the water, stretching his arms out in reverence. He could be a good man. He had to. For Joseph. For Mary.

“The Cleansing shall begin.”

 

* * *

 

The Baptist spoke the words of The Book of Joseph, watching as his brothers lowered the reluctant unto the cold water. His eyes never straying from his Mary. He prayed God would not let her drown.

 _Not so soon, please_ , John begged. _Let me talk to her first. Let me show her the way. Let me save her. This is the only thing I’ll ever ask of you. Please._

He watched as the bubbles began to reach the surface. The struggle to keep her underwater. John resisted the urge to stop this and fetch her. She needed this. She _needed_ to be cleansed.

 _Hold on for just a little longer_ , he whispered into his skin, _This isn’t meant to hurt you. It’s to save you. Trust me._

“We must wash away our past. We _must_ expose our sins.”

They pushed the cleansed unto the surface. John could hear Mary gasp, a horrible wet cough following it.

“We must atone. For only then may we stand in the light of God and walk through his Gate unto Eden.”

The Baptist spoke, blessing the cleansed before him. But when they brought Mary before him, he was once again awestruck.

Her dark hair stuck to her skin, mouth open from hasty gasps, with beautiful eyes staring down at him in confusion and hurt.

John is reminded of the fact he’s merely a man. For that sharp glare stings him, and it makes him want to get on his knees and beg for her forgiveness.

(Oh, the blasphemy. If Joseph knew he would consider him beyond salvation.)

His hand trembles as the tip of his fingers bless her forehead. John’s skin begins to heat; he hears Mary’s inhale. The Baptist makes the mistake of looking down, and catching her lips reddening from the bite her teeth are pulling.

“Wait,” he tells the others. “I wish to see something.”

He gives the holy book to the man on his right, and approaches Mary.

John’s hands travel to her blouse. Fingertips dancing at the collar, letting his gaze fall to her exposed collarbone. His wrist itches, burning, not unlike the hot iron who had kissed his flesh.

“Stop,” Mary whispers. Her eyes are down, almost afraid.

“Mary,” John says. And so their eyes meet.

Her pupils are blown wide, much like his own. Her lips are too red now, slightly puffy. He wonders if she bit the inside of her cheek. John’s mouth goes a little dry. He wishes to give her a kiss to soften the pain.

His fingers stop just at the end of her collarbone.

If he put any more pressure on it, John thinks, he could make her gasp in an entirely different manner. He wonders if he can get away with unbuttoning the rest of her shirt. The Baptist knows he shouldn’t. But the sinner in him screams louder.

“John,” Mary says, so soft.

“Is it here?”

“John—“

“Did you burn it off like I did mine?”

Mary recoils as if John did just so to her. Her red lips open in pain, eyes wet. She looks like she’s about to cry. John always had that effect on people. But now, he feels something he thinks is guilt. The Baptist bows his head.  

He meant it when he said he didn’t want to hurt her. He truly did. He _wants_ to be a better man.

_But what if being a better man means I have to break her more than I should?_

“John,” she speaks, and he lifts his head. “You can look.”

He’s paralyzed by her soft tone. Mary’s cheeks lift slightly to the side; a smile he’s never seen forming on her hurt lips.

“I’m _letting_ you.”

And like that, The Baptist is tempted.

One hand grows a mind of its own and latches itself unto her blouse. He could. He could unbutton it just to _see_ it. Just to glimpse at his name engraved unto her skin.

 _Like it should_ , John’s mind lets it slip to his conscious. _Like it always will._

The Baptist takes a step into the chaos. Fingers dangle her buttons as his heart swells and his cock hardens—

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?”

John freezes. Mary flinches.

“No, Joseph—“

“Shhh,” he tells him. “We all have our moments of temptation, John. It’s when we choose to fall that it ruins us. Do _not_ let your sin win.”

John is still as Joseph speaks. Mary, on the other end, bares her teeth at The Father.

Does Faith’s bliss not work on his Mary? Or does it merely intensify her own sin? _It shouldn’t_ , John thinks. _We’re here to help people cross Eden. It should keep you complacent. Willing to listen to God’s word. Do you not hear Him, my Mary? Are you too far down to not even know when He speaks to you?_

John is scared for her, he realizes. What if he can’t save her? What if she’s beyond that? Would he be capable of killing his Mary, if that meant Joseph’s safety?

The Baptist does not know the answer. And that frightens him more.

(He should be disgusted by her. All that she represents. The unwillingness to listen. The disobedience. The pride. The conceit her sins wear.

Yet, a part of him can’t help it but enjoy it, too. Not The Baptist. But John, the selfish greedy man. Who wishes he could take her and keep her for his own. To let his name on her skin burn his flesh. Protect her, if he could. From the world’s horrors he’s seen first-hand. The ones he knows she’s seen as well. Worship her body and her soul and all the blasphemous things John knows he shouldn’t want, but desires anyway.

To be a saint is a path of martyrdom indeed.)

“Bring that one to me,” Joseph commands, so it is delivered.

The Baptist guides the sinner to The Father with surprise ease. Mary’s movements are clay under his hands. Soft, pliant. Faith’s air does affect her, but not enough to cleanse the wariness. If his sister was here, her voice might be able to drown her wrath. But all Mary has is John. All he can offer her is a steady hand to endure the pain.

“Despite all that you have done, you are not beyond salvation.”

The Father eyes Mary with the same focus he eyes every single person he meets. All of your sins are exposed to him, you see. And he sees them and does not judge. He sees for _all_ that you are, and what you _could_ be. Joseph speaks as if everyone has the chance to reach Eden, because he believes it. He knows it. He hurts for those who do not listen and fall from Grace. Because he believes he’s failed them. _That_ is what makes people follow Joseph. His empathy. His love.

“You’re not here by accident or by chance. You are here by the grace of God.”

His hands grace her cheeks, ever so gentle. Careful not to scare the beast which lives inside Mary. The Father loves all. But not enough to let their teeth reach his skin.

“You can prove yourself to Him, that you are worthy of His mercy. You can be better, Mary. You can be with John. All you’ve ever wanted, yes? If only you’d let God inside your heart. It doesn’t have to be hard, Mary. It can be _easy_. You’ve been given a gift.”

And John is struck with how familiar those words are.

 _Is it true, Mary? Do you truly want me? Do you wish to have me like I do you?_ John thinks, hopes.

A soft warmth fills his wrist. It climbs up his arm and to his chest. He looks at Mary, and catches a small glance thrown at his direction. John would jump of joy, if not for what Joseph spoke next.

“Now it remains to be seen whether you choose to embrace it… or to cast it aside.”

And then The Father looks wary, more so than Mary, when he approaches his brother.

“Anyone can reach Atonement. But not everyone can bear it,” he says, his hand reaching the back of John’s head. Joseph pulls and John follows. Their foreheads touch in a gentle caress, very much like he did Mary. “If you cannot endure it, the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

“Yes, Joseph,” he answers, without hesitation.

The Father leaves them.

For a moment, John is lost in thought. He ponders Joseph’s words, Mary’s role, his own will to follow his brother. He feels just like when he was eight, and his brother Jacob warned him not to bring home a stray kitten.

“Dad won’t like it,” he had said. And he had been right.

When their father had found the weak little thing, he threw it across the wall and yelled at John. Called him names. Told him he was a disgrace, a selfish wicked child, bringing in more mouths to feed.

“You think God will love you if you bring home trash, John? You think welcoming sin with open arms is what He _wants_?”

John had cried. The force which covered his arm was too much to handle at the time. Jacob, of course, interfered as best he could. But they both ended up with deep dark bruises all the same.

Upon learning this, Joseph had fetched an old shoe box. He had taken John by the hand and led him into the backward. Where they both prayed for God to welcome this sweet little animal into His kingdom. John put a daisy inside the box and Joseph dug a hole on a far corner where his father wouldn’t notice.

They had buried the kitten. John sniffling throughout, grief too much to bare. Joseph held his hand the entire time. And kissed his forehead when they were done.

“Now you know, John,” he had said, “Learn from your mistakes.”

The Baptist was so afraid of making that very same mistake.

“John, talk to me,” Mary whispered to him.

John stared at her, conflict blending with love.

“You will confess,” he tells her, “Every sin you’ve ever committed, no matter how petty, no matter how small… I will pull from you. You will reach Atonement. I’ll make sure of it.”

Mary looks at him as if he struck her. “John, please. You can’t—“

“Take her,” he tells the men. “She’ll be the first one to confess, understand?”

“Yes, John.”

They grab her easily. Soft, pliant. But her words shout with a festering might.

“John! Listen to me, your brother is a criminal. He's a liar. There is no Eden! He’s _fucking_ manipulating you. John! John, listen! _John_!”

The Baptist turns his back on his Mary. He ignores her screams, hears them fade away as they shove her inside the van and drive off. He ignores the desire to protect her. Remembers this is for the best. She’ll be _saved_. She’ll live beyond the end. Whether Mary wants to or not.

It isn’t till later, that John loses a bit of his composure. They reach his ranch and that van is nowhere to be seen. He commands his followers to go search for them, fearing the worst. Half an hour passes till he receives confirmation.

“The resistance took them, Baptist,” they tell him. “They caught our drivers by surprise and seized the cleansed.”

“Got it,” John snarls into the radio, body boiling. “Get back here.”

“Yes, John.”

Once the transmission is cut off, the Baptist chucks the radio to the side. Stomps on it.

“ _Motherfuckers_. Fuck. Fucking sorry pieces of shit! Fuuuuuck _all_ of you. Shit! _Motherfucking sinners_! Fuck!”

If Joseph could see him now, he’d shake his head in disappointment.

But he isn’t here. So John grabs the nearest chair and smashes it into the ground. Bits of wood pierce his skin; feels that familiar annoying sting. He pays it no mind. All he can think about is _his Mary._

Time for soft touch is long gone. If he desires to keep her safe – _save her_ – John will have to be the monster every heretic thinks he is.

Neither of them know the lengths he’s willing to go. But they will, soon enough. Deputy will realize her mistake. And The Baptist will welcome her back, with open arms.

Mary Keen will be saved. Even if she ends up hating him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?? Drop me an ask at @tentaclevamp on tumblr if you wanna chat!
> 
> (And I've been listening to Hozier's NFWMB and it fucking screams John/Mary. Like, it screams all my ships. But this one in particular. I can totally envision John -- in some alternate reality or, who knows, in the future -- singing that very same song because he's just that in love & in awe with his badass girlfriend.)


End file.
